A Lesson in Courtship
by Scarlett71177
Summary: Set during Twilight. Edward bids Bella goodnight after prom.


The bluish light hugged the curves of the two lane highway and cast eerie shadows into the dark forest. The drooping branches of the spruces and hemlocks loomed over the road. The swerving light dusting over the green moss and lichens played tricks on her mind and prompted her to see things that weren't there and, given the recent past, she knew the creatures of nightmares did linger out there in the darkness.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he asked with a heavy sigh.

She shivered at the sound of his voice. He wouldn't want to know what she was _really _thinking, and just then the glowing eyes of a deer distracted her from the feeling of his palm pressed to hers, and from the soft, haunting music of the car stereo. She turned slowly, trying to prepare herself for the surreal beauty that awaited her, but no amount of mental preparation could ready her for the warmth of his golden eyes.

Bella forced herself to swallow**.** Her gaze drifted from the beseeching eyes to the smooth perfection of his cheek and jaw where the moonlight caused his skin to faintly glow. Then it was on down to the hollow of his throat, left bare by the loosening of his bowtie. His tuxedo jacket hung over the seat of his Aston Martin, and the sleeves of his white shirt had been rolled up exposing his wrists and forearms.

Her pulse quickened.

Prom night was a night for celebrations, and she knew many teenagers were probably "celebrating" right that minute (in fact, she was sure Jessica Stanley would spare no detail about her "celebrating" when she saw Bella first thing Monday morning.) But instead of sneaking around and deciding what hotel to go to so her father wouldn't find out, she had spent her evening trying to convince her vampire boyfriend to nibble just a little harder on her neck and change her. Their conversation outside the school had left Edward in a melancholy spirit.

She finally answered his question. "Just prom." It wasn't _exactly_ a lie.

He sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry I made you go, I just—"

She shook her head. It seemed to help dispel some of the dazzling effects. "I'm not angry. I'm sorry for my temper tantrum—I _might_ have had a little fun. Thank you for taking me. Was that your first prom?"

The question caused him to pause, his eyes shifting back toward the road. A faraway expression came over him.

"I think so? It was my first as a vampire**,** at any rate." He smirked and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She closed her eyes and smiled at the contact, leaning across the console to rest her head against his shoulder. "Proms weren't big in the nineteen-teens."

Even though his morals and the cadence of his speech were from an earlier time, sometimes she forgot they didn't share many of the same experiences growing up.

She felt instantly guilty. He always tried so hard to accommodate her, to appear 'normal,' and she didn't mean to make him feel odd. "No, I don't suppose they were. Did you ever go to, I don't know, cotillions or balls or anything?"

He shrugged slightly. "After the war started, a lot of social events were postponed, and I don't recall ever going to one. Public courtship wasn't really the common until the twenties and thirties. It wasn't until families had cars that dating became a more social event. And cars gave couples privacy they couldn't have at home."

The thought was so foreign. It was just a norm now that _nobody_ wanted to hang out with their family while on a date, but the concept of courtship sounded romantic too. Bella settled herself as close as the pesky console allowed, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaned in toward his neck. "So what was a date like then?"

"Courtship was principally determined by churches and society at large. They set the rules about what was or was not acceptable. Callers often arrived at a predetermined time and stayed for a chaperoned visit."

His voice was soft and had the musical quality she enjoyed so much. She closed her eyes and sighed. "What did couples do on their dates?"

She felt him shrug slightly. "The purpose of courting wasn't social; it was to find out if couples were compatible, to get to know one another. I imagine they'd discuss the same things teenagers do now—favorite books, music, listen to phonographs, talk about the goings-on in society and politics."

Bella knew something of chaperoned visits since her return from Phoenix—she didn't have to imagine that. Her father constantly hovered while she and Edward did their homework or watched television. She, at least, had the luxury of a boyfriend who could scale trees and the side of her house**,** and sneak into her bedroom at night. Something told her that was uncommon during the early twentieth century.

"Phonographs**,** huh? What was number one on the Billboard Chart in 1918?"

Edward chuckled, his chest rising and falling under her head. "Jazz was becoming quite popular, as were songs about the war."

It wasn't difficult to envision the old-fashioned image when his voice had that dream-like quality. She could picture a girl in war crinolines or a tiered skirt**,** with her hair curled in soft Marcel waves or cut in a short bob. A wide-brimmed hat completed the imagined ensemble. Edward would be insanely handsome, no matter what the current fashion dictated. She smiled at the thought of him in a three piece suit and striped necktie**,** with spats and a straw boater hat. The couple would sit ramrod straight on a sofa, hands nervously fidgeting in their laps, apologizing and blushing profusely when they bumped knees or feet. A record crackled and skipped from a cabinet in the corner.

It was so easy to see Edward in her daydream, but try as she might, she could not envision herself in the scene. It was too foreign**;** the clothing almost costume, the traditions and customs so archaic. She couldn't be _that girl_. She was never meant to be there.

Suddenly the dawning realization that if _she_ couldn't be that girl, someone else _may_ have been, making her mind swim with unwelcome images of _her_ Edward with some faceless woman. Had he courted many girls? Would he even remember? Did she have any right to be jealous?

Her voice was quiet, resigned, when she spoke again. "Do you think you courted many girls?" The thought of him sharing this kind of intimate moment with anyone else turned her weak stomach.

When he answered, his own voice was distant and empty. "I don't know. I wouldn't think so. My mind was far too occupied with thoughts of the war and enlisting. I wanted out from underneath my father's shadow and the life he wanted for me. I wanted to make my own way in this world. I wanted personal glory."

He was silent for a few moments as the CD advanced to the next track. "And my heart was busy waiting for you."

Her eyes opened as the car gently glided to a stop, and he smoothly put the Aston Martin in park before turning off the engine. The porch light was on, signifying that Charlie was still awake and waiting for her, but the glowing digital numbers on the radio declared that she still had eleven minutes before curfew.

Edward always knew exactly what to say to put her mind at ease. Gone was the insecurity of him being with someone—anyone else; and the earlier tension over the discussion of her change had melted away.

His scent hung heavy in the car now, more appealing than perfume, more intoxicating than an aphrodisiac. She briefly wondered if she smelled this potent to him, but her mouth was too near the open lapel of his shirt to care.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to the cool skin of his collarbone, ignoring his hissed intake of breath and the dying protest of her name on his lips. She hungrily tasted the column of his throat, kissing her way up to his mouth.

Bella pushed herself closer, fisting his hair tight as she fused her lips to his. Edward's hand came up to cup the back of her neck, softly stroking the nape. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, feel the tightening of her lungs, and the ache and calling to be closer still**.** But he eventually had to pull away, turning away from her.

"I should walk you to the door now, Bella. Charlie is about to check on you."

She sighed, slouching back into her own seat before smoothing out her hair and dress. Appraising her carefully, allowing his gaze to linger on her legs and décolletage, Edward exited the car, before coming around to open her door. He offered her his hand in assistance.

The awkward rhythm of one clicking stiletto heel and one scuffling walking cast broke the stillness of the night. The sound was all wrong next to his silent grace. Just another reminder of his perfection and her weakness.

"Thanks again, you know, for making me go. I would have had just as much fun if we had been dancing alone in your room."

He feigned a scandalous expression, his jaw dropping and eyes widening as he clutched his free hand to his chest. "Why, Miss Swan, I'd never dream of tarnishing your reputation with such behavior. I assure you I have only the best intentions toward you." His lips twitched with the hint of her favorite smirk.

Her eyes caught his and she smiled before darting back along the illuminated path toward the house. "That's a shame."

She hobbled onto the porch carefully, thankful for his steadying hand. "You're coming back, right?" she asked, looking up at her bedroom window.

"You're lucky it's not the early twentieth century—that would be even more scandalous than it is today. But yes, I'll drop the car off, change, and be waiting for you before you'd finished with your evening human routine."

She cracked a smile. "How would a caller say goodnight to his date at the end of the night in the nineteen-teens?"

Edward smiled, gathering both her hands in his. "I think a gentleman might be lucky if he could kiss a lady's hand." He bent low, raised their joined hands slightly, and softly kissed hers before turning them over, letting his cold lips trail from her wrists to the inside of her elbows. The coolness of his breath and the feather light kisses make her knees weak and her breath catch. Softly, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing his lips to hers, parting them ever so slightly.

Her heart thundered loudly, beating a lively, syncopated rhythm against her ribcage, and Edward eventually pulled away before she went into cardiac arrest. With a smile, she leaned back against the door, steadying herself and gasping for breath. "I think I'm glad it's the twenty-first century."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Many thanks to Roxanne for the beta. This fic is a gift for Lindsay. 3_


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